Leftovers
by Miss Chips
Summary: But then, it's a motion they go through, because in the end, in the end, they knew it was going to be them, just them. Oneshot, MalKaylee.


**leftovers  
**

what most people don't care to know 'bout him is that he was a bred gentleman. that's right; no one cares to know because most people just don't give a gorram 'bout anything nowadays. but it's true, very true.

his father was a scientist and his ma was a writer and she collected little brooches and made wind-chimes out of them. when you entered their library and the three suns hit that library on that little moon just right, it was magical.

"come here, mal," his mother would say to him as he entered, his floppy boyish hair going everywhere, in his eyes, in his ears, tickling the nape of his neck. "look what i've written today."

and he could read real well. he was the first in his class, and he was an awful good reader. his ma said so often, even when she was sad, which was quite often.

she would hold her chin in her hands and look out the library window, her eyes looking kinda red and soft and very very tired. she would hold her chin and sigh and say, "some day, mal, we're gonna get off this moon. someday pal."

she wrote stories about life on earth, stories that she had heard from her grandmother, because she herself had never been there.

"oh! the freedom," she would say, lifting her hands into the air and she would run her fingers through her brooch-wind-chimes. "the freedom they must have had!" and she would take his hand and dance with him and soon they would be in fits of giggles, quite spent with their fit of joy, their hiccup of happiness.

mr. reynolds did not think it proper for him to engage in such effeminate things. he would frown under his moustache and shake his head at the library door. sometimes he would say so to mal, and say, "malcolm, son, your mother is very, very, very sick... er... i mean... not right. your mother is not right. in the head."

he would stare at his father.

"do you understand, son?" his father would ask over his thick eyebrows. his father was a handsome and very hairy man.

"yes." he would reply, even though he didn't, and never really did.

he was told to study science and biology and anthropology, but nothing seemed very real to him, since there wasn't much biology on their little moon and only a few cultures, so what was the point?

"you look like your mother," people would say in town, at school. his father would scoff at this:"but he's going to be a mathematician some day, aren't you, pal?"

"yeah. sure. dad." the dust was red on the surface of their moon, but underneath, if you pushed it with your toe just so, it looked golden, golden-brown.

he knew how to waltz and how to properly engage in a dual of guns. he knew which fork to use first even though they never had salad and very rarely had more than two entrees. but everyone had to pretend, to be honest was to give up. no one on that little moon gave up.

but then the wars happened. his mother died somewhere all along the line ("the joy that kills") and her father ended up somewhere on the core planets, his loyalty splitting from his only son's.

_i will not let you continue with this--_

_continue with what? what, dad? from--_

_hold on there--_

_you're a coward._

_very well._

_right. i'm leaving._

_then do so. i will not continue this discussion until you are logical and sensical again._

his father married again, a girl quite young for him, and they had two other children-- his half-brother and sister. he never saw them even though one time, one time, he went and tried to find them, but everyone who knew them looked at him strangely when he inquired and wouldn't answer none of his questions.

he was always more like his mother. like they said.

---

when she had popped out a girl, her pa looked sore disappointed.

_"ching-wah tsao duh liou mahng!"_ he had said before picking her up and examining her, making sure he hadn't missed anything that could possibly, possibly redeem her. but the fact was that she was one-hundred percent female, and although there was a way to change that, the frye's were so gorram poor, there was no talking about it.

yes, she sore disappointed him. fact, she was even worse, as she grew older and she got pretty, really gorram pretty. one night she looked so pretty, her pa popped her one in the noggin', and it hurt somethin' awful. it left a shiner on her left eye for so long, her ma even felt sorry for her and gave her some pain pills that she "had left over."

on of her brother's loved her. his name was jal and he had a gimp leg, but it didn't bother him none doing the finances for their shop. he was awful smart, and she told him often.

"you should go to university, jal. you really should," she would say to him, watching him work numbers like they were needlework, like everything worked together like a grand tapestry. he would smile at her comment and she would continue, "you're real smart; wish i was as smart as you."

"don't be dense, lee," he'd say to her, a thin smile on his face. "you're just as smart at me. prolly smarter."

she would laugh at him and pick up a spare carbonater-coil that had arrived at shop. the wires were like pieces of a puzzle, she put them together so easily it felt like little school again, or the only school she'd really been at.

"i ain't. i ain't smarter than you."

jal would smile.

sometimes, when pa was real red-faced and mean at night, jal would go and buy her some grapes and share them with her by the dim light of the moonlight that streamed into their bunked room.

she loved jal lots.

---

simon asked her once if she had slept around a lot before he had met her.

"sure!" she replied, smiling at him. when she realized that this wasn't the right thing to say, she pushed her hair out of her face. "i mean, sure, why not? it's fine to like sex, right? nothin' wrong with that, right?"

he said nothing, but just smiled at her.

"right?" she felt something like a bubble in her chest, her fingers clenching the sheets beneath them.

he turned the light off and faced away from her. "'night kaylee."

she didn't sleep the rest of the night. 'stead, she went to the enguine room and sat in her hammick, staring at the boat's moving parts, feeling the hum of serenity 'neath her. feels good. real good.

his footsteps were hard at her threshold. captain was never one for civilities within his own boat. "you going to bed soon, _mei mei_?"

she stared at her hands. "sure, captain."

"good," he said. he walks away.

she caught herself looking after his frame, his silhouette dark and sad against the steel of the ship.

she likes how he don't ask no questions of her or demands nothing from her.

---

it was a matter of time. of course it was.

inara's hands were soft just he thought they might be. she smelled like mahogany and incense and sandalwood and when her lips crashed into his, he thought every blood vessel in his body would implode.

her hair. tumbling. waves. crashing. hips crashing together. moving like a tide, thrusting itself onto land. a crest. folding on itself. crash.

crash.

it's everything he ever wanted, and he smiles at her afterwards, but when she smiles back, he knows, deep, deep, deep down, that they're just fools, fools. because it can't work, it can't, he knows that, she.

they make love again. and again. and again. but each time, the pleasure oozes out of the ordeal, as if they were race horses, racing towards the finish line, trying to see who could get to the end the fastest, who could end this the fastest. who would be the one standing there, losing, looking foolish?

oh god. not him. please god, no.

---

"teeter-totter, teeter-totter, seesaw." river braids her hair, and the way she moves her hands are very mathematic and exact. in and out. out and in.

her hair in tight and away from her face, in a nice sort of way for once. "that's nice," she says to river. "real, nice. thanks river!"

river cracks her fingertips and checks coordinates for the ship. she hums a little to herself before saying, "teeter-tottor, seesaw, you're in trouble, captain's mad, la de da."

she tries to ignore her, but the rhyme keep continuing and and she won't shut-the-gorram-up. so, finally, she says, "river, whatcha bleating over, dear?"

river gives her one of those looks like she knows so much more than her, it's almost ridiculous. sub-par. even.

it happens later in the engine room, when she's sitting, tinkering with the compression cables. he comes in, white-faced, his lips pressed so tightly together, it don't look like he has none.

she don't look up at first and says, "captain, i'm working here..."

"you ain't now," he interrupts, and that's when she looks up. she starts at his face, and he starts at her starting. he runs a hand through his face, as if he's trying to interrupt something, but he ain't, and they just stare at each other for so long, she feels like she might cry.

the compressional cables make a muffled thunk on the floor of serenity. "something i can do for ya?"

he regains himself, pulls himself back almost. "yeah, sure can. kaylee, what in the gorram universe is that plinkering noise?"

she cocks her head to the side. everything is very quiet for a second 'cept for the captain breathing real heavy-like. "i don' hear nothing..."

"yeah, well, i do. and if it don't stop by the time we're planet-side, consider getting yourself a new job. but you probably want the hell off here, don' ya..."

"captain!" her stomach feels like it hasn't had blood come to it in awhile and suddenly all the blood in the whole 'verse is rushing to it at once.

"DO. IT. FIX. THIS." when he leaves, he trips over the doorframe and he curses so loudly, river screams in agony somewhere in the ship. she sees simon rushing by, looking frantic. he don't even say hi or nothing, not even though she's crying.

she ain't cried in a real long time, but she can feel the tears coming and they come, they come faster than she ever suspected. when she runs, she runs into zoe, who says, "yep, real sad. inara leaving us and all. i think the captain has taken it the worse." then zoe asks her is she'd like some coffee.

later that night, she takes dinner to his cabin, 'cause he didn't come for supper in the mess room. it's not much, but she tried real hard to make the potatoes taste like they had real cheese in them, but it still has that damned bitter protein aftertaste that all their food has.

she don't ask permission to come in, because he wouldn't give it to her if she had asked. When she enters, he's taking a piss, and she's a little embarrassed, but not really, not like she should be, which surprises her lots. he don't seem too affected by it either, since, after he washes his hands, he looks over at her and says, "_mei mei..."_

"don' call me that, captain," she says, gently though, not demonstratively. she puts his food on his nightstand and says, "you better eat something, us going planet-side tomorrow and all."

he shakes his head quietly and they stand opposite each other, an awkward distance from each other. she don't know if it's too far or too close, it's one of those kind of distances.

the uncomfortableness is real awkward-like, so she turns to leave, but then she stops herself and says to her shoulder, "captain, i'm real sorry about inara. i know how... how you felt, feel. i know... i know what it's like to feel like they don' really care lots. i know."

next thing she knows, captain's crying, really crying, like she ain't ever seen him cry before. Not a sobbing sort of mess, but a quiet stream of determined tears, tears that haven't been rightly damned up for inara's sake, she can tell, but just for everything. everything in the 'verse that captain's been losing out on, been loving and losing, losing, losing.

when he falls asleep after awhile, his head rolled off the side and resting on the wall adjacent to his bunk, she puts her hand on the crown of his head, wiping his wet face with her other hand. wiping off the snot and tears and sweat and grease, she thinks about how he's a good man, the best, the bestest she's ever known.

---

"he good to you?"

she is in kitchen, sitting cross-legged, writing a letter to home, though she 'spects that no one really gives a gorram how she's doing. when she looks up, he's taken his gun apart and is cleaning every little part of it. he ain't looking at her, and at first she wonders if he even said nothing. then, he repeats himself: "he good to you?" he looks for the briefest fraction-of-a-second, and in his eyes she sees flecks of things she ain't sure she's right comfortable with.

"captain?" she watches as he polishes the barrel of the gun.

he looks up again, and this time for longer. she squirms in her chair. "you're happy right, little kaylee?"

she looks down, pouting internally at the way he's looking at her. like he's hurt. like he's boiling, boiling underneath them eyes. she ain't done nothing. he doesn't need to look at her like that.

"i'm always happy," she mumbles to her letter. she almost catches herself at the sarcasm in her voice and notices that the captain too has caught it, as he stops for a second, his hand on his pistol. but he continues, his hand moving methodically back and forth, polishing.

he squeezes her shoulder when he leaves, and she can't help but feeling like crying for some reason.

---

they're planet-side and he's sitting in a bar, getting piss drunk (once again). jayne is buying the rounds (once again) and for once in a long while, he's starting to feel a little moon-brained and nonchalant and it feels good. real nice-like.

'bought half an hour into it, however, in she walks, her hands in the pockets of her coveralls, it makes him kind of sad. why he's depressed, he's not quite sure: the dirty coveralls or the unhappiness on her face, the way her smile don't reach her ears.

"howdy there, _mei-mei." _he says to her, though he knows she don't like it when he calls her that.

"hey, captain," she states before blasting off, "simon wants me to marry him."

he stares at her for a long while, trying to decide if what he's heard is alcohol or actual sound-waves. then, opening his mouth, he closes it. "huh."

"right," she states. she looks around the bar awkwardly for awhile "well, we was thinking..."

"don't" he states before knowing what he's saying. then, as if it would soothe things, he says. "don't marry him, kaylee. don't do it."

she don't. simon gets off at some planet or another, a safe-haven for people trying to dodge the alliance. he thinks about trying to hire another pilot, but the picture of plastic dinosaurs and disheveled laughter stops him and after all, he don't need one now, he's getting real good at flying.

she stays, in her engine room, and things seem a little sadder and a little lighter ever since the doctor and that crazy sister of his have left, like everyone's feeling something empty and then everyone's feeling normal. for once.

---

they keep flying.

even when zoe gets shot up real bad and she decides to make residence on a moon a little way off the beaten path, they keep flying. without wash... well... what was the point anyway? she don't blame zoe, not at all.

sometimes though, sometimes, she wonders what they're flying for.

---

"you can leave when you wanna, little kaylee..."

"i don' wanna, captain."

"ever?"

"don' laugh. i'm serious. i love flying."

"you're a good mechanic; the likes of you deserves a big ol' boat of her own with her own crew."

"that mean you're giving serenity to me?"

"don't hold your breath, little one."

"that's what i thought. i don' wanna leave, captain. i don' wanna. so stop asking me 'bout it and hand that gorram wrench already!"

---

he should've figured. he really should've, after all's, he ain't so very dense, no matter what inara said.

he does remember one thing 'nara said before she left: "you're... you're... you _are_ serenity, mal. i can't compete. this... flying... this ship... every piece of machinery... it's you. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. but. i'm not a piece of... i'm not._ i'm not_."

he thought perhaps he was the only human being on the planet that felt that way he did 'bout his boat. even zoe gave up eventually ("sir... i hope that you don't. that you don't mind. i'll always be your first mate, but, i..."), and jayne got better prospects elsewhere, and well, soon, he had to hire new crew. they were nice enough folk, but it seemed that they ended up together at the end of the day, sitting in one of their cabins, playing cards or drinking engine-distilled wine or just sitting there, enjoying each other's presence.

she'd grown older, but then, so he'd. there wasn't quite the immediate quality of youth about her, although she was still mighty young. but still. she was older and there were creases around her eyes and her mouth that didn't really age her, or make her less... like her. it made it more like her, like those ghosts of past smiles were just witness to the vitality in her still.

he looks at her. grease on her cheekbones, dirt in her hair, coveralls limp and perfectly smudged. they're reading, each their own book. hers has people with barely any clothes on embracing and the title is something contrite and comical and wonderfully kaylee. she feels his eyes and she looks up and smiles and when she smiles a small piece inside him breaks, breaks thinly, like a hangnail or a eggshell or a sand-dollar. like that, he breaks, and he finds something in him exploding real quiet-like, softly.

it makes sense. he should've figured.

he should've figured.

when he kisses her, she don't cringe or nothing. her lips are soft and firm and taste a little like engine-grease and grapes. her book falls to the floor softly and none of the other crew blink an eye the next day to see their mechanic wearing a shirt too big for her.

---

when she says, "i love my captain," it surprises him that it don't affect him much differently than before she slept next to him at night, her body soft and warm and perfectly normal.

he wonders how long he's known.

but in the end, what does it matter?

he loves her. he don't love easy either.

---

when they visit his mother's grave, she squeezes his hand. she don't look at him, because he don' want her to, she can tell, and because she caught a small glance of his pursed lips and it brook her heart.

they stay a couple days on the moon, and although there are many invitations to stay ("i remember your father! what a nice man! we always have room for the reynolds here!"), they both start feeling itchy-like after a few days.

they're flying sooner than they suspected, and when they break the atmosphere, she turns to him and says, "looks like a nice place to grow up in."

"yeah," he replies. his eyes are slanted. "sure."

it's just a language they speak.

---

he walks into the kitchen one morning and makes the coffee. she comes in later and sits on the counter-top, staring at his hands and then telling a little joke that 'nara sent her the other day. they both laugh a little and admit for the millionth time that there sure do miss everybody. but then, it's a motion they go through, because in the end, in the end, they knew it was going to be them, just them.

in the end, he knew.

he stares at her and smiles a little crookedly. the coffee tastes bitter and steaming going down, but he don't mind. she's wearing her coveralls and his shirt and he don't mind.

she smiles back. "you feeling shiny, captain?"

he takes a sip of coffee. "shiny. just shiny, little kaylee."

her smile extends to the tips of her eyes. "that's good. that's real nice, mal."

they work on a overheated unibody coil for the rest of the day.


End file.
